The Lioness and the Serpent
by ScarletInk314
Summary: Hermione Jean Granger may have been a core factor in the downfall of the Dark Lord, but when she bumps into the devil himself after a job interview, she learns that Voldemort ain't got nothin' on the likes of Draco Malfoy.
1. Chapter 1

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******Hey there, everybody! I know, it's been forever since I've put anything up on at all, so to make up for it, I'm writing a killer HP fic for every fan out there who wants a Dramione hit. I really really hope I don't lose inspiration halfway like I did with all my other multi-chapter projects, so fingers crossed, because this is the best thing that's come up in _months. _Seriously, months. So I hope you enjoy it!**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. This work has been created for creative and enjoyment purposes only._****_

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Chapter 1: The Interview

The huge wooden oak doors of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry flew open with celestial force. A figure swathed in dark, flowing robes stepped into the Entrance Hall with a strange, calm dignity, taking one short look at her surroundings before proceeding through a door to the side.

In and out she wove through the empty corridors while the paintings muttered and commented about the lone, passing form. Her movements were short and concise, wasting no effort in responding to the moving portraits of the old, hook-nosed ladies or the knight on his fat horse yelling insults and following her through the frames. She was here for one purpose, and one purpose only.

Hermione Jean Granger was re-entering Hogwarts, her second home and holder of countless memories, for a job interview.

Rolling her eyes at the strangeness of her situation, Hermione thought back to the morning when Ron had first made the ridiculous suggestion to her.

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* * *

_

It was the smell of Molly Weasley's legendary cooking floating from downstairs that first brought Hermione to open her eyes, and she breathed in the delicious scent of toast and bacon. Deciding it was time she filled her stomach with something, Hermione sat up and pulled the curtains open with a generous sweep of the arms. Instantly the room filled with the morning sunlight, and she squinted for a moment in the temporary glare.

_The first thing she noticed was the silhouette flapping against the window pane. She smiled at the familiar sight as she opened the window and let the tiny owl settle on the edge of her bedside table, before scooping it up in her palms and plodding to Ron's room barefoot._

_Not even bothering to knock, Hermione pushed the door open and let Pigwidgeon flutter over to Ron's snoring figure. She laughed gently as the owl landed on the tip of his freckled nose, and made a funny, high-pitched hooting noise._

_The red-headed man in question groaned sleepily, and waved a heavy hand around his nose. Startled, Pigwidgeon rose up and took refuge on one of Harry's bags._

_Still chuckling to herself, Hermione walked quietly over to where her fiancee was still sleeping and curled up in the remaining space next to him. He finally woke up at the sudden contact and, upon realising who it was draping her arm around his waist, smiled._

_"Hey," he said simply. She poked his forehead in annoyance._

_"Silly," she chided him, pointing to the closed window between his and Harry's beds, "you left the window closed again, knowing full well that Pigwidgeon has letters for you every Thursday morning from Bill and Fleur! If I didn't know better I'd think you were doing it on purpose, just to get me to visit you in the morning."_

_He smiled again goofily. "I forget, okay? I thought you knew me, 'Mione. Now you'll have to come in every Wednesday night to make sure I open the window too."_

_Hermione blushed at the implications and shoved Ron playfully. "Don't be like that. It makes you seem desperate. It's not like we don't see each other every day already anyway."_

_Harry, who had by now awoken to the commotion from the other side of the room, turned around to give the couple a baleful stare. "If you two have had enough of canoodling around like a pair of lovestruck rabbits, I'd like to go back to sleep."_

_Hermione blinked, having only just remembered that Harry was bearing silent, (suffering?) witness to their affections, and got off the bed with the intention of eating breakfast...only to be pulled back suddenly as Ron's arm hooked around her waist and pulled her back down next to him._

_"What was that for?" she protested._

_"You were warm."_

_Harry chose at that precise moment to fling back his covers and stalk out of the room. Hermione and Ron watched his pyjama-clad figure disappear down the stairs._

_They lay there in silence for a moment, before he whispered in her ear._

_"I feel like pissing my best friend off with my fiancee. You coming?" he asked._

_Hermione considered for a moment._

_"Why not?" she said, looking up at him, and Ron's face lighted up with a grin, dimples and all. He pressed his lips to her forehead briefly, before taking her hand and leading her outside._

_"And this is why I proposed to you."_

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George Weasley was already sitting at the table when Hermione and Ron came down, hand in hand. He looked up as they pulled adjacent chairs back and sat down opposite him.

_"Morning," he said to them smugly, with a knowing wink. Hermione turned pink, and Ron's ears went red. Harry, who was already helping himself to a glass of pumpkin juice, sighed in exasperation._

_Of course, the moment was saved by the arrival of Ginny, who emerged yawning and plopped down next to her husband. Harry grinned, his mood immediately lifted, and kissed her good morning before resuming his breakfast. Hermione, on the other hand, blinked._

_"Well, look who's getting all cosy now," she muttered, "hypocrite."_

_Harry chose to ignore her statement, taking another bite of toast._

_A few seconds later, Mrs. Weasley came hurrying into the room, carrying another plate stacked with food, and judging by the newly growling stomachs, the new arrival was very welcome._

_Charlie Weasley's stocky figure now came striding down the stairs, two at a time. He didn't stay for long; after casting a glance around at the couples and George's solitary figure, he grabbed a piece of toast and headed straight for the door._

_"Gotta go, Mum," he called to Mrs. Weasley, before nodding shortly to George. "Good luck with the lovebirds, George. Merlin knows you'll need it."_

_At this, George's eyes twinkled. Hermione watched as Charlie's silhouette disappeared against the light streaming in from the open door. "What's he doing, going off so early?" she asked him._

_George shrugged, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. "First day back to work; Charlie's not due until at least eleven, but I think he reckons he's gonna get a promotion. You'd think he was turning into Percy or something, the way he's been acting lately."_

_"Who's turning into me?" a thoroughly annoyed voice came from upstairs. Percy Weasley sniffed as he pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and, after bidding a brief greeting to the occupants of the table, left as well._

_George smirked in that customary way of his, and for a moment Hermione half-expected Fred to appear suddenly behind him with an identical expression. That, of course, did not happen, and Hermione inwardly slapped herself for not having fully accepted that Fred was gone, and that when some kind of prank happened in the house the culprit would be George, and only George. _

_It had been three years now, but every time she and Harry visited, the missing presence of George's other half became painfully evident whenever he was around._

_It wasn't the same._

_Snapping out of it, Hermione only just noticed the silence that had fallen over the breakfast table, and realised that she wasn't the only one whose thoughts were running along the same lines. George was studying his now empty plate, mischievious grin gone as he remembered the absence of his twin. Harry and Ginny were unusually quiet, picking at the remains of their food, and Ron's ears had gone red once more as he stared intently at Hermione._

_"So," George mumbled awkwardly, the slight crack in his voice loud and clear in the stifling atmosphere, "you haven't exactly gotten a job yet, have you, Hermione?"_

_It took Hermione a few seconds to realise he was addressing her, and she looked up hastily. "Well...no, I haven't. Should I?"_

_As a matter of fact, Hermione knew too well that she should. It shouldn't have been hard for her, with the grades and scores in the N.E.W.T. exams she had gotten when they had returned for their seventh year. But she never felt like she was ready for a job at all, not even while she was working as an Auror to reform the Ministry, and even more so after she quit just a few months ago. Harry was, of course, still an Auror, as was Ron, Bill was far away in France with Fleur, Charlie was still working with the dragons he so loved, Percy was in a high position already within the Ministry and George was running the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes solo. But Hermione? Hermione was the only one unemployed, apart from Ginny._

_"Oh yeah," said red-headed woman piped up, overly brightly. "I forgot to tell all of you last night, but I've decided to lend George a hand at the shop for a while. Merlin knows it's no easy task."_

_At this, George managed a small smile._

_Hermione sighed as her shoulders slumped in resignation._

_"What should I do?" she appealed to Harry, who had his arm around Ginny and was looking like a puddle of love-potion. He frowned slightly at Hermione._

_"Well," he began, "you know, you have a lot of options, 'Mione. Anyone who bothered checking up your N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. scores would be tripping over their own feet for you."_

_Hermione didn't know whether she should have been pleased or slightly frightened at the compliment. "But I don't want something that big...at least, not yet anyway," she protested. "It's not like I'm planning on going for Minister or something; Kingsley is doing a fine job of it already."_

_They fell silent again for a moment. The Weasleys couldn't be the only ones footing the marriage bill; not so soon after Harry and Ginny's recent marriage._

_No, as the fiancee, she had to contribute as well._

_Ron's eyes suddenly lit up as something clearly dawned on him._

_"Say, 'Mione...why don't you go take a few years at Hogwarts? I'd bet you'd do the students there some good, with that big brain of yours."_

_Hermione slapped him on the arm. "I do not have a big brain, Ronald Weasley; I just studied more diligently while I was at school, which I'm sorry to say does not apply to the likes of you."_

_Ron only laughed as he brushed the playful insult off..._

* * *

By the time Hermione reached the stone gargoyle to the Headmistress' office, she was unsure not as to whether she had made a mistake or not, but rather how big a mistake she had made just by deciding to come. The moment she had stepped into the Entrance Hall, she had been overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia and memories of all the times she, Harry and Ron had stepped together into their united home. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was as unchanged as the first day she had entered, nine years ago.

Taking a deep breath, she told the gargoyle the password and stepped in.

* * *

"Come in."

At the command, Hermione pushed the wooden door open to reveal the Headmistress' office. Behind the desk sat Minerva McGonagall, who happened to be absorbed in her perusal of a thick and dusty-looking volume. Then she looked up, and smiled as she recognised her most favoured pupil.

"Miss Granger, how good to see you again. Please sit down."

Once Hermione was seated, Professor McGonagall continued. "Now, Miss Granger, I would like to know why you have applied for a position as a teacher here at Hogwarts." The request was a perfectly acceptable one, but tone of her voice told Hermione she already knew the answer.

"As you probably know, Professor, I have spent the last two and a half years working at the Ministry of Magic and campaigning for non-pureblood and magical creature rights with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. However, now that everything I have been in charge of has settled down to a satisfactory standard I would like to find a more stable and..." here, she paused for lack of a suitable term, "nondescript...occupation. Hogwarts is a familiar place and I believe the students here would benefit my teaching."

The witch opposite her nodded slightly to herself and, dipping her quill in the ink bottle beside her, wrote a few long, elegant lines of writing on the piece of paper in front of her.

"Well, that is perfectly understandable, Miss Granger, but have you any teaching experiences of credit?"

At this, Hermione wasn't sure as to how she would respond. Certainly, yes, she had taken part in teaching the DA during her later years at Hogwarts, but surely it would not be appropriate in a job interview.

Then again, it was not as if Minerva McGonagall was entirely ignorant of the unofficial gatherings that rendered half the Gryffindor common room empty on periodic nights. Leaning in, Hermione said, "I'm sure you have some idea at least, Professor."

Professor McGonagall studied Hermione for a moment, before leaning back in her seat and pulling off her rectangular glasses. "I think I do indeed, Miss Granger. In any case, it is of no concern; your final school exam scores are evidence enough of your high degree of intelligence and dedication."

Hermione didn't know how to respond to such a compliment from her former teacher, but before she could think of a reply, McGonagall's voice rose again, this time with an immensely pleased tone in it.

"I do not think I need a full interview to know that there is no one more deserving of the post of Transfiguration professor than you, Miss Granger," she told Hermione, the corners of her green eyes crinkling with warmth. "School starts on Monday; you have until then to move your belongings into your office, the location of which I am sure you know."

Hermione smiled gratefully. "I would be more than happy to. Thankyou."

And with that, she stood up smoothly and left the office.

While Hermione waited on the stone steps inside, she tried out the title by which her students would address her.

"Professor Granger," she said experimentally. The respect such a title gave her was enough to fill her with confidence.

She was no longer just Hermione Granger.

She was Hermione Jean Granger, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Yep, it definitely worked for her.

Hermione was still brimming with pride when she strided straight out into the corridor, the word 'professor' echoing in her head.

What she saw next made her drop the new stack of books she had gotten from the office.

"Malfoy?"

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**Oh, how I love cliffhangers.**

**I know, it's a little cliche to do the whole coincidental meeting thing, but isn't that how all great romances start? Anyway, that moment where George does the whole "Morning," thing with Hermione and Ron was totally from the seventh movie (sorry if I spoiled it for people who haven't watched it yet, although why you haven't I cannot comprehend; it was just too funny to not tell...) and I just _had _to throw it in.**

**Speaking of Ron and Hermione...I KNOW. This is a Dramione fic, not a...what do you call those RonxHermione fics? Ah hah! Another reason why Dramione is far superior! Okay, back to the topic. Yes, it is a Dramione fic, but all couples are allowed to act all cosy when they're engaged, right?**

**...Right?**

**Anyway, it won't stick around forever. I intend for things to change from the moment Hermione spots Draco's sexy little head in Hogwarts. ****It won't be long until I update again, so stay tuned! When school starts I will decline to what I hope will be a weekly update, but there's no telling what'll happen when all one does every year is get more and more shitloaded with work.**

**Anyway.**

**Until next time,**

_**ScarletInk314**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi again, everyone! This has got to be some kind of record for me, churning out chapters at such a fast pace! I'm sorry to say this won't last long, though; school starts in a few weeks.**

**Anyway, I have decided to be un-cruel and not leave a cliffhanger this time, so enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. This work has been created for creative and enjoyment purposes only.**

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_**Chapter 2: The Encounter**_

Needless to say, Hermione had _not _been expecting this.

"Granger? What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Malfoy looked stunned. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I could say the same to you, _Malfoy_," she said through gritted teeth, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be."

With that, she bent down, swept up all the textbooks in one smooth movement and strode past him. When she was a good few feet away from him, Hermione stopped and turned around.

"Oh, and Malfoy?" she added. "It's _Professor_ Granger to you."

She allowed herself to indulge in Draco's ghost-white expression for half a moment, before continuing on her way.

* * *

Hermione hesitated as she looked around at the three curious faces gathered around her, and clutched her mug of hot chocolate tighter.

"I ran into Malfoy."

"WHAT?" Ron was the first to exclaim, looking scandalised. "You've got to be kidding me! That _git_, a professor?"

"I couldn't agree more," Harry added. Ginny, on the other hand, frowned in thought.

"Why would someone like Draco Malfoy take up a position at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, screw that, Ginny," Ron interrupted, ignoring her glare, "this is all my fault. If I hadn't suggested a post there, this would never have happened. Why in Merlin's name didn't I think of something else?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation, and took a sip from the mug. "Well, it's too late now, anyway; I mean, I can't exactly go back now to McGonagall and say 'Oh, Professor! Sorry, but I've decided I'd rather go drown myself in a pot of toad-slime than work with Draco Malfoy, so I'm afraid you're going to have to find yourself a new professor of Transfiguration. I bid you goodnight!'"

It was true. To take up a position offered in the Daily Prophet by the Headmistress of Hogwarts, then to return and spontaneously reject it for what would be seen as a completely unprofessional reason, was simply not possible if Hermione wanted to uphold a reputation amongst the wizarding community.

At least, not with the tabloids keeping an eye on her every now and then, as had been going on ever since the downfall of Voldemort. No, it would be best if she left the matter to worry about tomorrow.

"Now," she told them in a tired voice, downing the last dregs in her mug as she did so, "I have some luggage and books to pack and move to my office tomorrow, so I'd best be off to bed now."

And with that, she stood up wearily, rinsed her mug clean in the kitchen and plodded upstairs to her room.

It was silent in the living room for a few moments after Hermione had gone, before a thought occurred to Harry. Slowly, he said:

"So, she would _prefer_ working with Malfoy to toad-slime?"

Ron's expression was grim as he shook his head. "I really hope she didn't mean that," he muttered, giving Ginny a dead serious look.

* * *

Sunday morning found Hermione waving her wand at the wardrobe in her room and transferring her clothes into her trunk in neat stacks. Ginny watched on nearby.

"No, don't bother with that, it's not flattering in the slightest on you, I have no idea why you even bought it in the first place..." she would interrupt every few minutes or so (not that Hermione minded in the least), or sometimes tell her things like "Yeah, take the blue scarf, I think it rather suits you better than the orange one."

Within the space of an hour, including discussions with Ginny (who, thankfully, was fashion-savvy unlike Hermione), she had packed most necessary posessions. It was strange seeing the small room she had become accustomed to over the past month looking so threadbare and plain, and thanks to Ginny's criticism of her clothing choices, Hermione had packed less than half the robes she had originally intended to, although conversely she would end up staying at Hogwarts for longer.

"Ginny..." she started uncertainly, looking at the extension-charmed but still extremely small bag on the ground, "are you sure I won't wear my robes out by the end of the year?"

The redhead shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it's not like it matters, does it? I mean, you can always just go and buy stuff if that happens, right?" Sighing, Hermione nodded. "Alright then," she said, before slinging the little bag onto her shoulder with great effort and heading downstairs.

The moment she arrived at the bottom of the staircase, she was greeted with the whole Weasley family, all gathered in the living room. Molly gave Hermione one of her customary warm, motherly hugs and reminded her to send letters regularly, while Arthur stood to the side awkwardly and bid her a fond goodbye. Ron was too busy sulking in the corner, muttering something about his own stupidity to join Harry and Ginny in the hugs and farewells. Percy, working overtime, and Charlie, who had just moved back to Romania late last night, were not there, but George patted her shoulder lightly as he held out the pot of Floo powder.

"Good luck there, Hermione," he told her, grinning briefly. She returned the smile, took a handful of the green powder and threw it into the fire, watching as the flames turned a vibrant shade of emerald. Before they knew it, Hermione had stepped in with a resolute finality, commanded clearly, "Head of Gryffindor's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!", and was gone.

* * *

It was only for the first time when Hermione stepped out of the green flames in the fireplace of her new office that she actually noticed how clean and tidy it was; a desk with drawers and stationery stood facing a window; outside, Hermione could see a rather spectacular view of the training grounds below. The floors were tiled, and a curtain sectioned off an area she presumed was the sleeping quarters. What she noticed next, however, proceeded to scare her out of her wits.

In a corner of the room, Draco Malfoy was fast asleep in _her_ armchair, his blond head resting on his left shoulder. He did not look in the least like he should be sleeping at all, she noted; he was fully dressed, as if he were _waiting_ for someone.

In fact, Hermione would _reallly_ have panicked, had he not awoken at that very moment to the sound of her arrival. He lifted his head slowly, grey eyes opening lethargically to see who the intruder was. She, on the other hand, only stood there frozen stiff, not knowing what to do. It didn't take long, of course, for Malfoy to realise that the person whom he had been sent to meet had arrived, and while he was _asleep_, too; he sprang up out of the chair in a flash, his pale face taking on a flustered pallor.

"Granger," he acknowledged somewhat awkwardly. Hermione couldn't surpress a smirk at his obvious embarrassment and dishevelled appearance.

"Malfoy," she replied back stiffly, albeit not without a hint of smugness; she never thought she would live to see the day Draco Lucius Malfoy appeared with anything less than perfectly orchestrated hair. His lip curled at her mocking undertone, and the moment she locked the door behind them he grabbed hold of her arm none-too gently, and dragged her down the stairs at a pace too fast for comfort. As they went, he began to speak in a low, extremely irritated voice.

"You're _late._ The staff meeting began fifteen minutes ago. I went up there at the request of McGonagall, but you never came until just then, and I haven't had the best morning either, so now we're both going to get in trouble, and it'll be all your fault.

"The Headmistress was going to get someone who can handle both Head of Gryffindor and Professor of Transfiguration; both positions have been empty since she was reinstated as Headmistress, but Merlin knows she could never refuse someone like _you_; not when you used to be her best pupil every single year—"

His hand was jerked back when Hermione suddenly stopped dead. "What now, Granger?" he asked exasperatedly.

She only looked at him through narrowed eyes. "What do you mean, 'someone like _me'?_" She expected him to say 'mudblood' again, like he had done throughout all seven years when they were students at Hogwarts.

So she was surprised when he only told her, "I only meant a huge-brained, rule-abiding goody two-shoes like _you_, Granger."

When it dawned upon her that Malfoy was nevertheless insulting her, Hermione jerked her arm roughly out of his grasp, muttered something along the lines of 'bloody ferret' as she passed him, and staunchly ignored him until they reached the staffroom door.

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"Come in, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, peering at them sternly through her rectangular glasses. As Hermione looked around at the occupants of the staffroom, she saw only familiar faces seated around the long table; Professors Sprout, Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey sat closest to the Headmistress; Binns, Slughorn and Trelawney were positioned further along, and Firenze and Hagrid stood on the far side of the room. Hermione also recognised her Arithmetics, Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies Professors scattered amongst the seated. At the mention of Hermione's name, Hagrid perked up. With a loud exclamation of joy, the half-giant crashed towards where she was standing and lifted her clean off her feet in a bone-crushing hug.

"Hermione! How're yeh doin', 'eh? Are Harry an' Ron alrigh'?" He asked as he set her down again.

But before she could respond, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. "As touching as this all is," she began, "it would be ideal if we could resume the reunion at a later time, in favour of more...pressing matters."

Blushing slightly, Hermione passed a glance at Hagrid and took the remaining seat, next to Madam Pomfrey. Draco, she noticed (much to her chagrin), was sitting opposite her.

"Now, as you all have undoubtedly noticed, our new Transfiguration Professor has arrived at last," McGonagall said. "Please welcome Miss Hermione Granger, who will be staying with us for the year. I am sure she will make a very kind and competent co-worker."

A small round of applause rang in the room as Hermione stood, still pink and looking more than a little mortified. She was sure all of the professors in the room recognised her, thanks to all the publicity she had gotten over her grades, and activism in the Ministry. As the applause died down, she sat again.

"Secondly," McGonagall continued, "I am disappointed to say that although Miss Granger was once a member of Gryffindor House, she has not been here for a long enough period of time to qualify as a Head. So unfortunately this year the position of Head of Gryffindor is vacant until further notice.

"However, we still have Heads for all other Houses, although this year there will be some changes made; Professor Sprout will continue to sustain her role as Head of Hufflepuff House, as will Professor Flitwick for Ravenclaw; and while as of the end of last year Professor Slughorn has stepped down as Head of Slytherin, we have an equally worthy contender amongst us." At this, McGonagall looked at Draco, and Hermione's eyes widened in horror.

"Professor Malfoy has agreed to take up the role of Head of Slytherin; we trust you will do a fine job of it." Draco nodded once only as the staff applauded his new position.

Meanwhile, Hermione's mind was whirling with a hurricane of thoughts. _Malfoy? Head of Slytherin?_ Even though he had made it clear his dark, manipulative nature, she certainly hadn't been expecting this sudden turn of events. There was just something about Malfoy that didn't fit the title; perhaps it was the general assumption that Malfoys did _not _take up occupations in places such as Hogwart, let alone become Head of Slytherin. Or it could be the fact that Malfoy was just too _freaking _slimy, even for a Slytherin. Hermione was more inclined to go with a mixture of both reasons.

"As term is starting tomorrow, it is essential for me to make sure that you have all your required textbooks for teaching and reference with you. If you do not, then it is of the utmost importance that you obtain them by the end of today. If travelling at this current time is inconvenient for you, I may have some spare copies of old textbooks in the book cupboard; however, their quality will likely be dubious.

"Should you require my assistance at any time today, you will find me in my office. Please head back to your planned activities, or otherwise return to your respective offices. This meeting is now closed. I bid you good day." With that, Professor McGonagall stood and exited the room. The screeching of chairs dragging along the floor followed soon thereafter, as the staff filed out after her.

Hermione passed a glance at Hagrid that told him she would find him later, then turned around and headed back up the staircases. When she reached the first floor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower, she searched in the bag for her key (strangely enough, Minerva McGonagall's former office did not open to the 'Alohamora' charm), turning around subconsciously as she did so—

And came face to face with the person she least wanted to see, less than a foot away from her. "Malfoy?" she exclaimed, startled. She could not comprehend how she had not noticed his presence...had she really become so off-guard over the past few years? "What do you want?"

He only held up a hand, the very same set of keys she had been looking for dangling off a long forefinger. "Looking for these, Granger?" he mocked, one eyebrow raised in that very annoying manner of his.

"Oh, give that back," she snapped, as she swatted at them and he pulled his hand out of reach, smirking. "Are you a witch or _not_, Granger?" he teased. "Or do you only ever use mundane methods of obtaining what you want?"

Furiously, Hermione pulled out her wand in a flash, and suddenly the keys were in her hands once more. Draco's malicious grin disappeared as he realised he had given away the game. "Can't say you're the brightest witch I've ever met, Granger; no matter what everybody else says," he told her.

Hermione was practically bristling. How dare that _slimy git_ insult her intelligence in such a manner, when he could never best her in any subject throughout all their school years?

"Not that you would know, _Malfoy_. If you ask me, any woman, muggle or magical, who has sense enough not to end up getting shagged by someone like _you_ is bright enough already."

His eyes narrowed in anger, and, whipping out something from the leather bag he was carrying, shoved a few sheets of parchment at her. "Remind me to tell McGonagall _never _to do a favour for you again," he told her coldly, before disappearing so fast Hermione didn't even notice he was gone until she looked up from the writing on the parchment clutched in her hands, and saw that she was once again alone, save for the sound of fading footsteps.

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**So, how was it?**

**I don't really have much to say here, except that after writing this i felt really awkward. I was a late starter in society (being the resident loner/bookworm of the school) and things are a little hard to write every now and then, when I hit blank spots.**

**Well, at least it's good to see I'm faring better than my previous ficcies, anyway. This would have been a load of absolute batshit, had there not been my two faithful friends and loyal voice-of-reasons _Midnight Feather _and Mandy. If you know Maximum Ride, go search up the name! She's a brilliant, talented writer and I'm glad to have her by my side here.**

**Also, thanks to Caroo, who was my very first reviewer! I cannot express how OVER THE MOON I was when I got my first review so soon! Thank you SO MUCH, you have my eternal gratitude. :D**

**That's all, folks!**

**Until next time,**

_**ScarletInk314**_

**P.S. I hope I get more stuff down here soon, but no guarantees. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again, everyone! I can't believe I'm updating at this rate! It's incredible! ****Anyway, I'd just like to caution you beforehand that this chapter contains potentially lethal amounts of ranting, OOC-ness and perviness on the part of Draco.**

**You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. This work has been created for creative and enjoyment purposes only.**

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Chapter 3: The Sorting

The following evening, Hermione found herself in yet another rather nostalgic situation.

It wasn't until that morning when she suddenly realised that the start-of-term banquet would be held on September 1st, and only because she had gone to the Great Hall to find all four house tables set for the upcoming night.

She had visited Hagrid early that afternoon; they had caught up with recent events over tea and some of Hagrid's rock cakes (which she politely but firmly refused; she'd had enough bad experiences with them in the past). It turned out that Buckbeak was still alive and well, although he had been down with a bout of mild bird flu lately and had required extra attention. And, of course, Fang was there as always, greeting her with approximately a bucketful of slobber and such a strong tackle that Hermione toppled over under his weight. Some things never change, Hermione had thought ruefully.

In return, between affectionate nips from Buckbeak, she had updated Hagrid on recent happenings at the Burrow and invited him to their wedding; after all, he had been there for Harry and Ginny's wedding and it was only natural that he should be there for Ron and hers as well. Hermione, subsequently, had left the Hagrid's cottage with a smile on her face and a stomach full of hot tea.

But there was still the pressing matter of what to wear to the banquet. So, in a hurry to find something decent barely an hour before the students arrived, Hermione had uncharacteristically torn apart her wardrobe, picked out her newest set of periwinkle-and-cerulean robes and regular black flats, and dumped the rest of her clothes unceremoniously on her queen-sized bed.

It was at this moment that a knock came from outside her door. Muttering about inconvenient interruptions, Hermione pulled the door open, to find McGonagall standing outside.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. I admit that this is very late notice, but it has been the duty of the Head of Gryffindor to bring out the Sorting Hat at the start-of-term banquet each year and conduct the Sorting of the first-years," she said.

"Unfortunately this matter slipped my mind, and I would have told you this morning had I not been attending to more imminent matters. However, since we do not have a proper Gryffindor Head this year, you have been chosen to step in wherever possible until we can find a proper replacement. So in the time being it would make matters flow much smoother if you could take on the role of the Sorting. All you need to do is to read out the list of names, place the Hat on their head and take it off again when their house has been announced. Everything you require will be in my office for you to collect when you are ready."

Hermione was speechless. How many times had she watched Professor McGonagall herself bring out the tattered Sorting Hat and place it upon each of the students' heads during the Sorting? It was an offer she could hardly refuse.

"I—I'd be honoured to, Professor," she said earnestly, and McGonagall passed one of her rare smiles.

"That's the Hermione Granger I know," she said, her voice unusually warm, and departed, leaving Hermione to make sense of her new dilemma.

It was amazing, Hermione later discovered, how fast one could operate when under pressure; within forty minutes she had showered, charmed her hair into a loose bun with ringlets and applied the faintest hint of eyeshadow and lip gloss. By the time she had gotten all her robes on, it was time to go, and she peered herself one last time in the mirror, making sure she didn't look overdressed before proceeding to leave for the Headmaster's Office.

* * *

Hermione faced the first-years' wind-blown, anxious faces, and was reminded of when she, Ron and Harry were the same age. Not particularly knowing what to say, she took on McGonagall's stern persona and began to talk.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will be sorted into your houses before you take your seats in the Great Hall for the start-of-term banquet. The Sorting will determine which house you belong in, and while you are here, you will spend time in your house dormitories, have classes with the rest of your house and spend time in the common room.

"There are four houses; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Whichever house you are sorted into will benefit from your achievements through house points, which will be added up to a total at the end of the year. However, rule-breaking will result in points lost and the house with the most points by the end of the year will win the House Cup, a great triumph for the entire house. Each of your houses has their own unique history and virtues, and while you are here you should take pride in the house you have been sorted into.

"In a few minutes you will be Sorted in front of the entire school. Please make sure you look presentable by then. I will leave you now and return when we are ready for you."

By now, the first-years looked positively terrified, and Hermione, unwilling to further scare them, left the chamber in a hurry.

* * *

Hermione watched the first-years shuffle into their lines from the doorway in the Entrance Hall, feeling extremely nervous. What if she stumbled on someone's name? What if something happened amongst the students that would throw her off-track? McGonagall had always conducted the whole procedure without so much as a stutter, even when something had clearly gone wrong. She had a brief flashback from the year Dennis Creevey had walked in, his tiny, dripping figure swallowed up in Hagrid's huge moleskin coat. McGonagall had simply had him set at the sidelines and gone on with the Sorting.

Hermione only hoped she could do as well. Taking a deep breath and clutching the Sorting Hat and the roll of parchment tighter in her hand, she stepped into the Great Hall.

* * *

Draco was already in the Hall impatiently anticipating dinner, when he realised that Hermione Granger was missing from the head table.

His unasked question was answered when Granger walked in from the Entrance Hall, followed by a long line of frightened-looking first-years.

_Granger? Sorting?_

As soon as the students were in their positions, he watched her take in a silver stool and put it in front of them, setting the Sorting Hat on top.

He only watched Hermione's neutral expression as the Hat sang its song, and the school applauded. She only moved once the clapping had died down, and as he continued watching she pulled out a scroll of parchment, opened it and told the first-years the instructions.

The first name was called...

* * *

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Draco saw her shoulders slump slightly in relief as her job was done. The large, round-looking boy in question pulled the Hat off his head and trodded over to an empty seat at the Hufflepuff table. Grabbing the stool and the Sorting Hat, she vanished into the side chamber and re-entered a few moments later, looking considerably more relaxed.

Her presence was almost unnoticed amongst the bustle that followed the Sorting as she took her seat two places away from Draco. Tonight, he immediately saw, she was dressed in a distinctively feminine set of robes of different shades of blue.

Draco suddenly he wondered what he could possibly have been missing under those baggy black school robes he was so accustomed to seeing her in. Of course, he then felt like kicking himself for even _thinking _about someone he was so instinctively pitted against in such a way. Granger was simply Granger, the annoying, big-brained, bushy-haired muggle-born who happened to be the sidekick of Potty and Weasel. Nothing else.

But Draco, no matter how much self-restraint he had, could not help but look again a few seconds later and notice that the junction where her neck joined her shoulder rather appealing. He kicked himself again, and resolved to look strictly at his plate for the rest of the feast.

Predictably, it didn't work.

* * *

Hermione stood up after McGonagall had delivered her speech and applauded with the rest of the room. As she sat down, she subconsciously glanced across at Malfoy and was surprised when she found him staring at her with an unidentifiable emotion burning in his eyes. The moment he saw her looking at him he broke the contact, staring at his golden plate with great intensity and, slightly confused, Hermione brushed it aside as simply a trick of the light.

Not five minutes later, when she was well into her roast potatoes, Hermione was certain Malfoy was staring at her again, for whatever unfathomable reason. Shifting uncomfortably, she took a large swig of pumpkin juice, sneaking a glance at him as she did so.

He was looking _straight _at her.

Hermione nearly spat out her mouthful of pumpkin juice. To her chagrin, one of his trademark Malfoy smirks crossed his face, and if it hadn't been for Professor Flitwick sitting in between them Hermione would likely have been inclined to subtly pour the rest of her drink on his lap and humiliate him for all to see.

* * *

A few moments after Hermione turned away from him, a scrap of parchment floated onto his plate from what seemed like nowhere in particular.

Unfolding it, he saw one word carved all the way through the parchment, rendering it see-through. The cursive letters were slightly black at the edges, as if they had been written with wandwork:

Creep.

Draco glanced over immediately at Granger, who gave him a thoroughly disturbed look. Silently, he crumpled it and cursed the undeniable fact that tonight was the first time he had wondered whether Hermione Granger _might_ possibly be a woman, and not just the clever-brained, goody two-shoes teenager of three years ago.

Draco decided (rather maturely, might he add) that he would _not_ reply to Granger's name-calling, and shoved the ball of parchment into his pocket before helping himself to more roast beef.

After all, she had called him 'creep' as if it were a _bad_ thing...

_

* * *

That night Hermione settled down at her office desk and, pulling out a roll of parchment, began writing a letter to the Burrow._

_Dear Ron,_

_You might not believe me, but being here at Hogwarts has been strangely tolerable despite Malfoy's presence. The staff are quite pleasant to be around (with one obvious exception), and they are all familiar._

_The first-years are so small; I remember when we were that tiny. I can hardly wait to begin the lessons tomorrow, although I'm having some doubts about my teaching abilities._

_No, Ron, I don't mean stuff like the DA. This will probably be much more difficult, especially now that I will be the sole instructor for a class of children. Do you think I'll live up to McGonagall's standards? And now I'll be teaching a whole bunch of theory too, and about Transfiguration of all subjects, which most of the first-years will be hopeless at in their initial lessons. What if they don't like me?_

_In any case, I hope everyone is well. Ron, I would be eternally grateful if you could keep Ginny away from the remaining clothes in my wardrobe; it took me forever last time to replace the robes she burnt, and I most certainly am not about to trust her anywhere near my bedroom alone now._

_But tell Ginny and everyone else I say hi, and that I miss them._

_I love you,_

_Hermione_

She then set that one aside and started on the next letter, this time to Harry:

_Dear Harry,_

_I know I should have written a letter to you and Ron earlier, but I have been quite busy settling down in my new office and catching up with Hagrid. Speaking of Hagrid, he says Buckbeak is doing well, and that it would be nice if you or Ron could visit sometime._

_Malfoy's been relatively docile lately, although he is still a pain to be around, and it would still give me immense pleasure to hex him every now and then for some of the things he says. Let me know if you want me to do so, and I will gladly oblige. I'll start my first lessons tomorrow...I really hope the students like me, because I'm here for the rest of the year and it would be infinitely more convenient if they did._

_Anyway, I know you've just bought your new home. How is it? I'll make sure I visit around Christmas so I can finally see what it's like. I heard Ginny's still packing her belongings in the Burrow though, so if you happen to be there, please don't let her anywhere near my wardrobe. Ron will be there too, but in case he forgets...well. It'll put me and my clothes at rest, at least, knowing you two will be there to stop her destroying whatever she deems unfashionable._

_I miss you all,_

_Hermione_

Reading them over and deciding they needed no further corrections, Hermione folded the parchments, inserted them inside two envelopes and headed to the owlery. Once there, she found a reliable-looking brown owl waiting patiently next to the window. It took the letters, ruffled its feathers once as Hermione opened the window and soared out, fading like a shadow against the night sky.

* * *

**Hi again! I hope everyone thought that was alright. You see, I was watching King Kong while typing this last night, and I guess I kind of fell into some weird trance and typed funny. I know, my writing's really crap in this one, so you might as well consider it something of a cross between nearly-a-chapter and a crack-fic, yeah?**

**Forgive me for my lameness right now.**

**Until next time,**

**_ScarletInk314_**

******P.S. Leave Draco alone, he's just embracing his inner perv.**


	4. Chapter 4

**So hi there, everybody! Sorry for taking so long; I told you it wouldn't last. But here you go; an extra-long edition for you guys! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. This work has been created for creative and enjoyment purposes only.**

_**

* * *

**_

Chapter 4: Of Birthdays and Hallowe'en Feasts

19th September came much quicker than expected. Hermione was in the Great Hall that morning, alternating between eating breakfast, ignoring Malfoy's constant poking and prodding at her appearance and writing a list in a notebook, when the murmurs of the students below turned to excited chatter. Three owls, one soot black, the other extremely old and battered-looking and the last just a tiny whiz, deposited two generously-sized packages and a curiously small one in front of her.

Delighted and knowing exactly whom these were from, Hermione grabbed the first package and opened the letter, pulling out a small card that was oddly plain on the outside. She blushed as it opened itself, folded into a mouth-shape and began shrilly singing 'Happy Birthday'. The rest of the professors and even some of the students looked curiously over at where all the commotion was coming from.

"Don't tell me it's your birthday, Granger." Malfoy's voice was incredulous, to say the least. Feeling like her morning had just been spoiled somewhat, Hermione frowned at him. "What's it to you?" she snapped. Without waiting for a reply, she turned back to the package before her and tore the wrapping paper open.

Out fell the most delicate, beautiful-looking silver scarf she had ever laid eyes on. It was magical, no doubt. Not just that it the fabric looked like it had been woven by something otherworldy, but also that as she brought it to her face, the most wonderfully familiar smell of butterscotch filled her nose. A note was attached to it:

_Hermione,_

_Happy birthday! I saw this scarf in a shop in Diagon Alley the other day and I thought you would look great in it, so I got it for you. Isn't it beautiful? When you wear it, it'll keep a constant temperature, so it won't be a problem even if you put it on in summer. I've also charmed it so it smells like the butterscotch biscuits we made; I know you love them, and I thought it would be nice to add a personal touch. I hope you find it very useful._

_Lots of love,_

_Ginny_

_P.S. No, I haven't destroyed your clothes yet; Ron made sure of that._

Excited, she immediately wrapped it around her neck and felt it warm up to a comfortable temperature; it felt so nice she didn't take it off again. Breakfast forgotten, she reached over for the next parcel. This one was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with white string. It fell apart as she unravelled the knot with a flick of her wand, revealing a large book. Running a hand over the leather-bound cover, she opened it and was met with a single black-and-white image of her, Ron and Harrys' teenage selves laughing and holding large mugs of Butterbeer. Beside it, Harry had written something in his customary scrawl:

_I was cleaning out my trunk today and I discovered this book of photos of us from our years at Hogwarts. I figured you'd like to have something to remember us by when you're over there by yourself. I won't ask you to hex Malfoy, although I'm not going to stop you if you feel like it. But I swear, if he hurts you in any way Ron and I won't think twice about coming over and giving him the beating of a lifetime._

_Happy birthday,_

_Harry_

At her best friend's protectiveness, Hermione couldn't help but smile. Deciding she would take her time looking at the rest of the album later, she set it in front of her and felt a wave of anticipation as she wondered what Ron had sent her in that tiny package.

Carefully pulling at the pieces of tape holding the wrapping together, Hermione slowly revealed Ron's present; a long, velvet box lay in her hands. Subconsciously holding her breath, Hermione pushed the lid open.

Hermione's breath caught as she saw the gleaming, golden locket inside. The locket's main surface was comprised almost entirely of fine threads of gold, weaved intricately over the outside frame to create a complex web. A tiny ruby sat in the centre where all the threads united. It was far more complex and luxurious a piece of jewellery than anything Hermione had ever owned.

Ron's lavender-coloured card was much more simple in contrast to his present; opening it, Hermione read his untidy writing:

_Dear Hermione,_

_Happy birthday. I wish I could be where you are, but since I can't, swear to me you'll wear that locket all the time. Anyway, it's been reinforced with magic, so you won't need to worry about breaking it or anything. It's kind of like a Snitch, too; it has flesh memory, so since you're the first person to touch it with bare hands, only you will be able to open it. It wasn't exactly a bargain, either; I had to go to Gringotts to take some of our savings because I didn't have enough money at hand._

_If Malfoy lays a finger on you, I'll make sure he'll never be able to have children again. That's a promise, 'Mione._

_I love you too,_

_Ron_

_P.S. Ginny's still sulking because I found her in your room the other day, about to ignite one of your sweaters. Don't worry, she's not going anywhere near there again._

Smiling again at Ron's message, Hermione reached up to clasp the necklace around her neck. She was still trying to match them up when the chain suddenly acted up on its own and the two ends linked together. At the same time, an all too-familiar voice reached her ears:

"I'd think that for all your brain's worth you'd at least _try_ to act like a witch, Granger, but after all this time you're still just like a Muggle," Malfoy sneered at her, but it seemed as if he were distracted by something else; what it was, she didn't know.

Not that she cared, anyway.

"Why don't you say it, _Professor_ Malfoy?" Hermione said in an unnaturally high voice. She didn't care if the students heard now; this was between her and the bastard sitting on the other side of the table. "Why don't you just call me that nickname you're so fond of and be done with it? Hermione Jean Granger, the _mudblood_. Well, I'm proud of it!"

The Hall fell silent. Students and staff alike stared open-mouthed at Hermione's outburst. Malfoy looked stunned. Grabbing her belongings with shaking hands, she stormed out of the Hall amidst the ensuing murmuring that had broken out over the house tables.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had just about ruined Hermione's birthday.

She had been hoping to simply teach her lessons to the third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, then retreat to her office after dinner, look properly at Harry's album and have a good night's rest, but Malfoy, being her eternal foil _had_ to make his stupid goddamned remarks all through breakfast; disparaging comments about her hair, her robe choice, and especially her identity as a muggleborn witch had been slowly pushing her over the edge since she arrived at the table.

And worst of all, Hermione didn't even know why she was letting the first two bother her; she had never cared in the slightest about what she wore or looked like, as long as it was passable. But somehow he had made it sound like wearing a set of comfortable brown robes was a capital offense.

_No,_ she told herself. He's just jealous he hasn't had the success she's had with her pupils over the past few weeks. He's envious that after all these years he's still being bested in intelligence by a muggle-born witch.

...But still, it was rather discouraging.

Sighing, Hermione stood up from her desk and headed to the Transfiguration classroom.

_

* * *

_

Dear Ginny,

_Thank you so much for the scarf; it's the loveliest I've ever seen. I'm wearing it right now, actually...I can't bring myself to take it off!_

_Anyway, how are things over there? Have you moved in to the new home? I'll come visit at Christmas._

_Thanks again for the present,_

_Hermione_

_Harry,_

_You found our old pictures? I can't believe they were in the bottom of your trunk all this time; I thought you cleaned it out properly when we graduated. Three years! I had to get rid of the slight smell of your uncle's old sock earlier._

_Never mind though, I still love the book. It brings back so many memories. Sometimes I almost wish we were still students at Hogwarts. It'd be nice having a year without having to rack our brains trying to figure out what Voldemort was up to, and we all know what the seventh year was like, spending half our time rebuilding the damage done to the castle._

_But that's okay. It's a little bit lonely here without all you guys, though, so I'm glad I have this album with me._

_See you at Christmas,_

_Hermione_

_Dear Ron,_

_Words cannot express how much I adore this locket. It makes my head spin to think how much you must have spent on it. I promise I'll wear it all the time; only for you. Thanks for keeping an eye out for Ginny. Really though, if she was about to incinerate my peach-and-green sweater, she is so getting it when I come back for Christmas._

_Never mind my moodiness, if it's obvious here; I snapped at Malfoy this morning because he questioned my use of magic in normal circumstances, the git. I mean, there's nothing unusual about clasping a locket chain by hand, right? It's completely ridiculous, because if that's something only Muggles do, why not just wave your wand and clothe yourself without even having to do up a button or a buckle by hand?_

_Merlin, why in the world am I writing this? I really ought to curse Malfoy sometime for his stupid whining. Gosh, it's so annoying._

_Anyway, I really love the locket. It's so beautiful. I have to go now, lunch break is nearly over and I have second-years after this._

_I love you more,_

_xx Hermione_

* * *

"What's this?"

Hermione peered down at the three little second-years looking up at her with wide eyes. The girl in the middle smiled nervously as she held out a quill, cupped in her palms.

"We thought you might feel a bit better if we gave you a present, Professor," the brunette boy on the right said, sticking out his chest pompously. Hermione was reminded somewhat of Percy. The curly-haired girl to their left sighed impatiently as she whipped out her wand and pointed it at the quill.

"Jess, you won't mess up, will you?" the girl with the quill asked nervously. Jessica rolled her eyes, ignoring the question. "Of course not," she snapped. She flicked her wand with pinpoint precision and the quill turned into a single yellow flower.

Hermione couldn't help but smile as they offered it to her. "Thank you," she told them, and the boy beamed. "That's very nice wandwork you've got there, Miss Marshall."

The girl flashed a brief grin. "Thanks, Professor."

A Gryffindor from the back row yelled, "Professor Malfoy sucks!"

"No, he doesn't!"

"He _so_ does! He took points off us the other day!"

"Yeah, well, that was perfectly fair; you kept throwing spitwads at Gina's hair!"

"Do you Hufflepuffs always have to be so judgemental? Just because you never have the guts to do stuff like that—"

"Okay, calm down," Hermione said to the two boys arguing. They fell silent abruptly.

"Now, I cannot say I have had the greatest history with the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, but as a fellow teacher I will not tolerate such language in my classroom regarding Professor Malfoy," she told them with a stern edge to her voice. "And that also applies to your other teachers as well. Now, please take out your textbooks and turn to page three hundred and ninety-four..."

* * *

**October 31st: The Hallowe'en Feast**

Hallowe'en preparations started at six in the morning, before any of the students had even woken up. Hermione staggered into the Great Hall, still bleary-eyed, about as pissed off as a Hogwarts professor could be at the crack of dawn, and rolling a huge pumpkin along the ground next to her.

"Bloody freaking jack-o'-lanterns," she grumbled as she laid the pumpkin on its bottom, dusting her palms.

The sound of laughter echoed down the hall. "Nice seeing you this morning, Granger. You look even worse than usual." Hermione was about to tell Malfoy something very obscene and inappropriate, but a second, much squeakier voice interrupted them.

"Now, now, Mr. Malfoy, leave Miss Granger alone. You've given her quite enough trouble as it is," Professor Flitwick chided. Draco only sent an insolent smirk in Hermione's direction, before turning away to his own giant pumpkin. "Thanks, Professor Flitwick," Hermione told him. Her former Charms professor only smiled, and sliced a clean triangle out of the pumpkin he had already started on.

Hermione was carefully cutting a neat mouth into her fifth pumpkin when she heard a low hiss of pain, followed shortly by a curse. Her curiousity aroused, she peered over to the source of the noise and was met with Malfoy clutching a bloodied hand. His thumb looked ghastly.

"Looks like you injured yourself again, Malfoy." she told him, trying not to laugh at his miserable expression. "Are you going to run to Daddy and blame the pumpkin, now?"

His eyes flashed. "Shut up, Granger," he growled, and hurried out of the hall, still looking very white-faced and irritated.

She would have succeeded in keeping the urge to have a giggling fit supressed if it hadn't been for the sight of the pumpkin Malfoy had abandoned. She doubled over, laughing so hard her sides ached. The rest of the teachers stared at her, confused as to what was so funny, until they too saw the jack-o'-lantern.

Malfoy had carved the eyes in upside down.

* * *

Needless to say, Hermione was intensely relieved that nothing of interest had happened so far. Professor Sprout, Hermione noticed, looked particularly happy. Jugs of pumpkin juice were being passed along the table, and she took it upon herself to refill her goblet.

All of a sudden, a figure plopped down into the empty seat next to her, and she once again nearly spat out her mouthful of pumpkin juice as she recognised him.

"Neville? What are you doing here?" she spluttered, completely shocked. Neville Longbottom grinned at her expression, the almost-invisible scar running parallel to his jaw coming into focus under the candlelight.

"Are you kidding me? I could say the same to you," he replied, to which Hermione looked confused. "I've been teaching here as a substitute Herbology professor ever since I left the Ministry last year. I didn't know you started teaching here, but this is great! Now I get someone other than Malfoy for company."

She nodded eagerly. "Believe me, the feeling is mutual. He's been a real pain for the past month, you know."

Neville shook his head as he helped himself to more pumpkin juice. "Nah, it's not like he's a terrorist or something. I mean, he's good enough to the students and all; more than you or I would ever believe, considering how he used to be. His attitude could still use a lot of improving though."

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned. Neville shrugged. "Personal troubles, I guess. His dad's in Azkaban, his mum wasn't exactly much better in the first place...when you think about it, he's not really the same person anymore."

Hermione thought about it, and realised then that Neville was probably right. Malfoy hadn't once called her a mudblood to her face since she arrived within the castle walls. It was amazing that she hadn't noticed, considering all the times he had insulted her concerning just about everything else. It was actually somewhat disconcerting to have to deal with the idea of a civil Draco Malfoy, especially when every fibre of her being was urging her to land him in St. Mungo's with a good curse.

"Well," she said, sighing, "I still don't trust him."

An awkward silence between them ensued. Hermione cleared her throat.

"So," she began, before being interrupted by a loud "Hey, look!" somewhere below. A Gryffindor first-year stood up and pointed at a particular pumpkin.

"Someone did the eyes wrong!" he exclaimed, looking excited. More students began to murmur and point at the floating jack o'lantern in question, laughing at the flawed workmanship.

Hermione looked over at Malfoy, who had turned a nasty shade of fuschia. He looked like a little boy who wanted to throw something.

She grinned, and took another swig of pumpkin juice.

* * *

The next morning found Hermione making her way to the staffroom once more. This time she ran into Neville halfway and was happily chatting with him by the time they pushed open the door. Nearly all the teachers were present; however, she noticed with surprise that Firenze, Trelawney and Slughorn were absent. Malfoy was slouched back in his usual seat, and Hermione staunchly ignored him as she offered Neville the seat beside her.

McGonagall cleared her throat and the room fell silent.

"Good morning, everyone. I trust you all have had a good night's sleep after last evening's Hallowe'en feast. Firstly, I would like to welcome Neville Longbottom back. Neville has been sick with dragonpox as of recent weeks, and thus has been unable to fill in as a substitute for Herbology. However, within the past year he has shown outstanding knowledge in his field and will now become a co-professor alongside Professor Sprout."

Hermione beamed at Neville's round, pink face as she applauded him along with the rest of the faculty.

"Secondly, it is my pleasure to bestow upon Professor Longbottom the honour of becoming Head of Gryffindor," McGonagall continued, much to the amazement of many of the staff members. "I think none of us would question the unwavering loyalty and courage in Mr. Longbottom that embodies the House of Gryffindor. Congratulations, Neville." At this, she flashed him one of her rare smiles, and the small room roared with the sound of professors clapping and patting Neville on the shoulder. Hermione had never seen Neville so red-faced and pleased since after the war when he was given credit for destroying Nagini.

Once the congratulating died down, McGonagall began speaking again. "However, now that Professor Longbottom is now Head, Professor Granger will be required to move out of her office in the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower. As inconvenient as this may be, it is Mr. Longbottom's right to claim the office of the Head of Gryffindor House. Miss Granger, I'm sure you wouldn't mind using Professor Slughorn's second Potions office on the sixth floor—"

A voice interrupted them.

"Excuse me Headmistress," Trelawney spoke timidly, "but unfortunately Professor Slughorn's second office is in use for my Divination classes until my old classroom has been restored. If you might recall, it took a great amount of damage three years ago and is still not in fit condition to use."

McGonagall pursed her lips. No doubt, Hermione thought, she was wondering why she even bothered keeping Divination as part of the school curriculum. She was about to speak again when another voice intervened. This time, it was Neville.

"That's alright, Professor McGonagall," he said brightly, "I'd be glad to share my office with Hermione. It's quite big and I'm sure she wouldn't object—"

"No." a soft voice broke in. Neville fell silent.

"Me," Draco said, looking straight at Hermione. "She'll stay with me."

* * *

**Dun dun DUNNNNNN!**

**So, now you know my evil plan to throw them together! MWAHAHAHA.**

**Okay. Really though, I have this thing planned out, and I hope you like it so far. If you like it, you'd better review or else I'll feel like not writing anymore :O**

**:D I gotta go now, sleep is calling. School starts on the 1st, so there will be a drop in updates after that date.**

**Okay, that's all, folks! (I think...)**

**And just so you know I got sidetracked by James and Oliver Phelps. OMFG they are so hot.**

**Until next time,**

_**ScarletInk314**_


	5. Chapter 5

**So hi there everyone!**

**Sorry it's taken me so long to update; this year's been hella busy and I'm already drowning under several assignments. **

**God, I hate you freaking teachers who expect us to spend our lives doing your stupid homework.**

**Anyway, here you go. Please forgive me! :'(**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. This work has been created for creative and enjoyment purposes only.**

**Chapter 5: Prowl the Corridors**

* * *

"What?"

The word had fallen from her tongue of its own accord. The room was silent. Neville stared at them both, mouth open wide with shock.

Malfoy blinked, once, as if coming out of a trance. Hermione was still looking at him incredulously.

"You're not serious, Malfoy," she said finally. "There's no way in hell—"

"Then it's settled," McGonagall's voice broke in. She eyed them resolutely (or was that a...conspirative?...gleam she detected somewhere in behind those glasses?).

Malfoy stood up. His face was curiously blank as he left the staffroom abruptly. Hermione stared after him.

"I-I should go," she managed, swallowing hard. "I need to pack up the office for Neville..."

And with that, she also stumbled awkwardly to the door, painfully aware of the many sets of curious eyes boring into her back.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I'm so glad you like it; I don't know what I would do if you didn't. Oh, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't your peach-and-green sweater. It might have been the yellow one though, I can't remember._

_So, I'm guessing your classes are going well, huh? It must be great being back where we used to be. I wish I could be there, though._

_The Ministry's been rather chaotic lately; we caught another Death Eater whatshisname; he's been hiding around for a while and we only managed to corner him the other day. I'm pretty busy at the moment, so sorry if I don't reply soon._

_Yours,_

**_-;-;-;-;-_**

_Ron_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I guess you're right. But it's all over now, so there's no point in regretting what we didn't have._

_Anyway, it's good to know you like it. Sorry I can't talk much now, I have a mountain of paperwork to do._

_Harry_

__

**-;-;-;-;-**

Hermione,

_I knew you'd like it; It matches you quite well, I'd imagine. It's not getting any warmer in any case. The rest of us say hello. Mum wants me to pass to you that she will be very disappointed if you don't visit us, so there._

_Anyway, I'll be going off in a few months to travel with the Holyhead Harpies. I imagine George will be fine on his own for a bit. After all, he's managed alright before._

_Well, I have to go now. The new house needs some furnishing; I still haven't moved everything out yet._

_Ginny_

* * *

Hermione was in a state of panic. What in the bloody name of hell had Malfoy been thinking, bursting out like that? Did he have some sort of ulterior motive, she wondered. Not that she could see one, in any case. As far as she could tell, he had just acted on impulse and maybe even now he was regretting his sudden decision.

Stupid Malfoy, confusing her like that, she thought as she climbed the stairs to his office one floor above. She hesitated for a moment, fist paused at the wooden door in front of her. What was she going to say to him? Deciding not to think about it, she knocked twice, and pushed it open without waiting for a reply.

Malfoy was standing before her very eyes, searching through what appeared to be his wardrobe. His bare back was all she could see of him, but even as he stepped back, a casual Muggle shirt clutched in hand, her eyes unwittingly strayed to what she would grudgingly admit was a pretty lean, well-defined torso.

Malfoy, for his part, looked completely surprised to see her standing there, mouth agape with shock. His expression quickly changed to one of panic.

"What in the bloody name of Merlin, Granger—" he shouted, throwing his shirt at her. "Get out! GET OUT!"

Still fumbling awkwardly, Malfoy's shirt in hand, Hermione scrambled for the safety of the door, which she promptly slammed behind her. Her face was burning with humiliation as she sank to the floor. She, Hermione Granger, had just walked on her childhood enemy _shirtless_!

And worst of all? She hadn't disliked it in the least! Hermione buried her head in her hands, trying to get her heart rate to slow down.

Instead, she discovered that Malfoy smelled of mint and something else she couldn't identify, but was surprisingly pleasant.

Wait, what the hell?

Disgusted with herself, Hermione flung the shirt down next to her and took deep breaths instead.

One minute.

Two minutes.

"Hey, Granger." Malfoy's muffled voice came through the other side of the door, less harsh this time. Hermione struggled not to yell back at him. "Yeah?" she replied.

A moment's pause. "Can I have my shirt back?"

"Um, okay." With hesitant hands she turned the door handle and pushed it open a tiny crack, just enough to stick her hand through. An unseen hand grabbed the shirt and Hermione hurriedly closed it again.

Several rustles later, the door abruptly swung open and Malfoy appeared before her, looking distinctly ruffled and disgruntled. "Come in," he muttered, not looking at her. Hermione shuffled in awkwardly, face still slightly pink.

Malfoy's office decently sized, to say the least. Certainly it would be cramped for two people, but it would have been quite roomy for one. Like hers, his office had an area in the far side of the room sectioned off; she presumed these would be the sleeping quarters. Needless to say, Hermione would need to get used to this comparatively smaller living space.

"We'll get someone to move an extra bed and desk up here later," Malfoy said shortly, picking up his coat. "Move out your stuff. We'll be late for breakfast if we don't go soon."

Grumbling, Hermione transferred her few belongings onto the armchair sitting near the bookshelf and closed the door behind her as they left.

* * *

That night found Hermione Granger marking essays in her new shared office. Malfoy was sitting in the armchair (which had previously been, as quoted by the devil himself, "purged of her putrid belongings"), perusing through one of the thick volumes he had taken down from the bookshelf. A substantially sized stack of parchment waited, apparently forgotten, on his own desk. After forty minutes of telling herself that his work was none of her business, Hermione couldn't stand it anymore.

"Why aren't you marking your essays, Malfoy?" she snapped at him, irritated at his apparent ignorance of his duties as a professor. "Put that book down now."

He looked up slowly from the volume resting in his palms, his eyes drawing leisurely to hers. "Well, Granger," he drawled, smirking, "I never would have thought I'd hear those words coming from you of all people."

Hermione resisted the urge to pull out her wand and curse him.

"Just shut up, Malfoy, and do what you're supposed to do."

His smirk widened.

"Well, Granger. You tell me; you had nowhere to go, I offered you a place to stay. Where's your thanks?"

She spluttered at the implication of his words. "What the—! You want me to _mark them for you? _Are you crazy? No way," she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. Ink splattered all over the essay she was marking and she cursed violently.

"I don't see why not."

Hermione slammed her quill down. "I will not do your job for you, Malfoy. _Anything_ but that."

"Anything?" He stared at her nonchalantly, a single eyebrow raised.

"You know what I mean," she growled, glaring at him. He only shrugged with a deliberate slowness.

"Oh, but of course I don't."

Hermione was frustrated. He had somehow backed her into a corner she certainly didn't want to be in. "Look," she said heatedly, "I'll repay you by doing anything within _reason_, okay? Grow up. I know you don't want me here — hell, I don't even know why you offered in the first place. What in Merlin's name was going through your head? You know, if I didn't have some degree of—of self-control I'd probably have hexed you at least seven times now."

She took a deep breath, still glaring at him. "Be an adult for once, Malfoy, and stop playing your stupid games."

He studied her for several seconds, an unfathomable expression on his face. But eventually, to her intense relief, he pulled himself up reluctantly from the armchair. The relief, however, changed quickly to annoyance as he pulled on his coat, flipping up the collar. He looked around at her, grey eyes shining triumphantly as he said, "You can forget about your essays, Granger. You're coming with me on night duty."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again as she resigned herself.

"You are _unbelievable_, you know that?" she muttered as she followed him into the cold corridor outside. For a moment, she thought she saw a smirk cross his aristocratic features. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again.

"I know."

* * *

By the time they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Hermione was wishing that she'd had the sense to put on another layer of clothing. Hogwarts without its fireplaces was unpleasantly cold.

They walked along the corridor, Malfoy looking completely relaxed, even _gloating?_, and Hermione completely uncomfortable with her surroundings. Even the paintings were silent, save for a snore or cough every now and then. Pulling out her wand and muttering, "Lumos," Hermione trailed after him.

"Nostalgia, Granger?" His tone was teasing. She scoffed. "You wish," she retorted.

They fell silent once more.

"So."

No reply.

"Why are you teaching here, anyway?" The question was awkward, even to her ears. For several moments he only kept moving forward, as though he hadn't heard a word. But then, he stopped, so suddenly that Hermione walked straight into him, and she let out a surprised squeak as she unexpectedly bumped into his back.

"Why do you want to know?" he spoke quietly, as she stumbled into place beside him.

She shrugged. "How do I know you aren't just doing this to fix your reputation?" she said simply. Malfoy frowned as if trying to figure out what to say. Finally, he looked up.

"It's not for that," he said slowly. "It's not like that." He sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. "It's for me." Hermione was puzzled.

For himself?

She didn't have time to think of a reason why; he turned around abruptly and grabbed her by the shoulders. Hermione, caught off-guard, could do nothing but look at him.

"You wouldn't know, would you Granger?" he told her through gritted teeth, his voice suddenly rough. She could feel his tension radiating from the fierce way he was staring at her, the iron-clad grip of his fingers, his breath coming out a little faster than normal. "You wouldn't know what it feels like, to be under constant pressure from a huge, pureblooded family. You wouldn't know what it's like to grow up inclined to a side everyone finds immoral. You wouldn't know what taking the wrong path is, because you had goddamned _Potter _and that bloody fiancee of yours, Weasel. You don't know how I feel, because _you're_ Hermione freaking Granger, the brains of the Golden Trio and revered by the entire society, and _I'm _just Draco Malfoy, the selfish son of two Death Eaters and an embarrassment to the entire pureblooded line."

His eyes were still stormy as he let go of her, drawing in a deep breath. He looked almost furious with himself as he looked away from her.

Hermione was speechless. She had been looking for a simple conversation starter and instead had received a completely unwarranted outburst in a corridor from the person she least expected one from, in the dead of the night.

Still looking angry with himself, Malfoy continued. "Look," he said, "what I—what I'm trying to say, is that I'm just trying to do something I'd be proud of, for once. Even if it's still for myself."

She didn't know what to say. "I-I'm sorry," she blurted out, trying to catch up with the fast pace he had picked up. He looked back at her, his expression neutral.

Only now she knew it was just a mask.

"Just forget it."

* * *

**So, how was it?**

**I hope it was okay :O Yeah, I know Draco was a little random. Actually he's been random so far, but anyway.**

**Tell me what you think, yeah? Again, sorry for the late update :(**

**Until next time,**

_**ScarletInk314**_


	6. Chapter 6

**So, um. Hi.**

**Yeah. It's been about four months since I last updated, and...I AM SO SORRY. ****Seriously, I feel so freaking bad for not updating at all, but I have been so ridiculously busy and stressed and school exams and my AMUS piano exam, which I didn't pass by the way despite working on it for two years. I am so exhausted, but I thought last night, "Right. I am finishing this now, sleep or no."**

**So yes. At 1.52 a.m. this morning I completed Chapter 6. And I upped the standard a fair bit too, so I hope you do notice that.**

**Again, I apologise profusely. Does _Doctor Who_,_ Torchwood_ and freaking out about the last Harry Potter movie count as distractions?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, Fred and Tonks and Lupin would all be alive. :P**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Quidditch**

A week came and went, and even though Draco acted his usual flawlessly jerkwad self, Hermione could no longer see him the same way as before. Something had changed; she now felt the need to search for a reason behind his behaviour, something that didn't seem to base on impulse. There was something Hermione didn't know about, something more under that outer skin, and whatever it was it scared her.

On the other hand, Saturday arrived like a cold, fresh breeze. Hermione had never been the most avid fan of Quidditch (although she still cheered her voice hoarse at every one of Harry's matches), especially after all the hours she had spent worrying after every one of her friends' various accidents involving the game. But despite herself, she was genuinely eager to see something happen after weeks of monotonous teaching and staying as far away from Malfoy as possible within the confines of a room.

Excitement floated through the air as everyone poured like a huge wave towards the quidditch pitch. All throughout the sea of students were house scarves, banners and the chatter that always preceded a game. Professor McGonagall appeared beside Hermione suddenly. "Good morning, Professor McGonagall," she greeted as her former professor took a seat, and the Headmistress flashed a rare smile back. "The Quidditch season has finally begun," she said. "I'm sure Mr. Potter will be very proud when Gryffindor wins again this year."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you, Headmistress," a familiar voice drawled from behind her seat. Hermione's head turned so fast she thought she might have gotten whiplash. "Malfoy!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing, eavesdropping?"

He pulled a trademark Malfoy smirk. "I can't help it if your voice happens to be as distinctive as a foghorn," he said smugly, "Although I'm sure you'll keep that bushy head down for a while after Slytherin takes the Cup." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just sod off, will you?" she sighed, part of her fathoming that she was beginning to sound an awful lot like Ron, "You can start talking when you beat Harry in a match."

"What, dearest Potty? I'll take him on any time." He shot her an insolent look (the kind she would expect from a second-year or below) and turned his attention to the Quidditch pitch below, where the Slytherin players swathed in their green-and-silver robes were filing onto the grass. At the opposite end, the Hufflepuff team with their Cleansweep Sevens were also making their way to the centre, their yellow-and-black quidditch robes billowing in the wind.

Madam Hooch was standing in the middle of the pitch, looking as hawk-like as ever. In the stands it was almost too far away for Hermione to catch what she was saying. The whistle raised to her lips, however, was as clear as daylight.

Its shrill command pierced the tumultuous wind, and the players were off.

"And taking the Quaffle immediately is Adele Primms of Slytherin House, ducking beneath Smith from Hufflepuff – close call there with Jaques Evanly, could have lost it easily...those Cleansweep Sevens are _so_ outdated, don't know why they're still being used, really –"

Hermione noted absently that this particular commentator was sidetracking almost as well as Lee Jordan himself.

"– Anyway, Slytherin making good progress there, pass to Robertson, pass to Lorraine Kimble, nice swerve around the Bludger currently occupied by Quimby and Pollack – and Weaver has taken the Quaffle, Hufflepuff in possession, no sign of the Snitch yet – pass to Katherine Burns, great Chaser, rather fine too but she's going out with some Ravenclaw arse who can't keep his mouth or his legs shut –"

_And, apparently, altogether much dirtier in mindset._

At this point, McGonagall, tight-lipped and clearly in a state of significant unrest, could not contain her frustration any longer. "MICHAEL DAWE!" she shrieked in a very un-Headmistress-like way from her seat (and scaring the wits out of Hermione), "DO NOT LET ME CATCH YOU USING THAT MANNER OF LANGUAGE AGAIN, _ESPECIALLY _IN PUBLIC, OR I'LL BE SEEING YOUR PARENTS ABOUT YOUR LACK OF SELF-RESTRAINT!"

Hermione wisely refrained from commenting on the irony of that statement, and thankfully, neither did Michael; "Sorry, Headmistress," was the sheepish reply; she opted instead to turn back to the game, where Slytherin was back in possession.

"– And the Quaffle is back to Sidney Robertson, who races towards the Hufflepuff goals, bless that _gorgeous_ Nimbus 2005, I heard they fixed the drag on the tail since the 2003 model –" here, he casted a nervous glance at McGonagall, "– nice dodge around Weaver, heading straight for Keeper Charlie McDonnell, the poor guy has two Bludgers coming his way now, one human, the other an _actual_ one – McDonnell tries to save both himself and the goals at the same time – misses – SLYTHERIN SCORE!"

The Slytherin crowd, a mass of green and silver, erupted into cheers, while the Hufflepuff stand booed its disapproval. Although she couldn't see his face, Hermione had no doubt that Malfoy was smirking in approval.

Then, all of a sudden, three things happened in quick succession.

Firstly, the Bludger that had nearly knocked Charlie McDonnell's head off his shoulders was swung at by Vincent Moore, one of the Slytherin Beaters; it changed course, still in full momentum, and hit Neville Longbottom squarely in the chest. Secondly, Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the roars of outrage coming from the Gryffindor stands as their Head of House toppled over in his seat, utterly winded and unable to breathe. Thirdly, before she had even begun to comprehend what had just happened, Draco Malfoy was pushing past Slughorn, Trelawney and Sprout and was pointing his wand at Neville, muttering incantations. As Hermione hurried over, ruthlessly shoving past concerned professors, she saw Neville suddenly draw in several great gasps, interspersed with bouts of coughing, as if he had just nearly been a victim of drowning. His eyes flew wide open and he tried to sit up.

"It's – okay! I'm –" his face twisted into a mask of pain as he doubled over, clutching an area near the place where the Bludger had hit him. "I'm fine, Hermione," he told her, smiling faintly when he saw her expression.

"Come on, Neville," she said, "let's get you to Madame Pomfrey, she'll know what to do."

"But I'm alright–" He began to protest weakly, before Malfoy's drawl cut him off.

"You'd do yourself a favour, Longbottom, if you go to the Hospital Wing without a struggle before Granger here punches _you_, too."

That warranted him a reproachful look from Hermione, who said "So you'd better watch that nose of yours as well, Malfoy, before you begin to worry about others'." She hooked an arm under Neville's as he laid a hand on her shoulder for support. He drew in a sharp breath and his eyes screwed shut as she tried to lift the both of them; his injury was clearly much worse than he let on.

Hermione looked over at Malfoy as she struggled to support the weight of her friend. "Well?" she told him frustratedly, "Do something, will you!"  
He surprised her when, without a word of complaint, he strode over to Neville's other side, wrapped an arm under the one Hermione had supporting his back, and pulled him up without any apparent effort. In silence, they began to move slowly towards the Hospital Wing, Hermione stoically ignoring the feeling of Malfoy's fingers accidentally brushing her side every so often.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

"I told you."

Hermione was confused. "Told me what?"

Neville only smiled faintly. "I told you he wasn't so bad, didn't I? And you didn't believe me."

"I never said – "

"I never said you _said_," he said, a small smile touching his face. The faint scar along his jaw shimmered silver as he tilted his head to the side, observing Hermione's expressions. "You might be the brightest witch I know, Hermione, but you're not very good at putting on facades. I can tell what you're thinking just by looking at you."

She sighed. "But that's the thing," she pointed out, "I don't know what to think. No, worse; I don't know what _he's_ thinking. It's like he's trying to be civil, but the moment I begin to believe he's an adult, he turns around and mocks me as if we were nothing more than children! How do you explain that?"

"Well, I can't really say, but he's a Slytherin, and a good one at that. There are almost always reasons and motives behind their actions." Neville shrugged uncertainly. "Then again, I could be wrong. Variations in Malfoy's behaviour could just as easily be reflections of petty, fleeting moods."

But then there was the matter of him practically shoving the idea of a shared office in her face. And what about just then, when he hadn't uttered a word or made any move to show reluctance against helping Neville, the one he had repeatedly humiliated throughout their years in Hogwarts?

What did it all mean?

Hermione was just about to bring that up when Madam Pomfrey appeared, looking slightly irritated, and hurried Hermione out of the Hospital Wing. "You've had twenty minutes already, Miss Granger," she chided. "Neville will need his rest, so you'd best come back tomorrow, when he's recovered better."

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

"Why did you do it?" Hermione asked out of the blue, leaning against a suit-of-armour. Ahead on the path of the corridor, Malfoy's footsteps came to an abrupt stop.

"What do you mean?" His voice was its usual drawl, if not without a hint of curiousity.

She stepped away from her leaning post and took her time catching up to his unmoving figure.

_Most definitely not taking advantage of the rather spectacular view. _"You tell me, Malfoy. You make cruel fun of Neville Longbottom and his misfortunes for the greater part of seven years. Then, over the space of three years, less than _half_ that time, relations progress between the two of you, to the point that you would come to his rescue in the event of physical harm, then help him get medical assistance? Without a single indication of unwillingness?" Hermione stepped in front of him, crossing her arms. "Don't tell me you seriously expect me to believe that kind of story without questioning what sort of motives you're hiding?"

Indignance flashed across his eyes. "Granger thinks she's so clever," he sneered, and for a moment her confidence faltered. "She never stops to consider that perhaps she might be prying into someone else's personal matters. She doesn't pause for a moment to think that she _might _be over-analysing things."

She couldn't back down, not now. "I wouldn't say I was over-analysing it; at least, not when it comes to someone like you."

"And what might you mean by that?"

"I mean that you do everything for a reason. Today, you could have let someone,_ anyone_ else do what you did for Neville. You could have stood by and let Sprout, or Flitwick, or even McGonagall cast those spells, and take him to the Hospital Wing. _I _helped him because he's my friend. Why, Draco Malfoy, did _you_ help him?"

He stared at her for a moment, and in that moment Hermione glimpsed something behind those clear-grey eyes, something that wasn't aristocracy, wasn't cold and smooth and dangerous, cunning calculation.

"Because he helped _me_." He began moving again, slowly. "Because I treated him like I treated Muggle-borns, and yet when I came to him, still clutching to the scraps of the Malfoy name, he convinced McGonagall to slate me down for a career that would pay decently and give me some dignity back. _Without a second thought_." He met her eyes.

"Tell me you wouldn't do your best to repay that kind of debt if you were in my situation."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say.

"I see," was all she managed in the end, and they spent the rest of the parole in silence.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

_Dear Ron,_

_How have things been going at the Ministry? Things have been rather dramatic lately; we had a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff earlier today, and Neville was injured by a stray Bludger and Malfoy and I had to take him up to the Hospital Wing. I'm not sure if he's still there or not, but he didn't turn up for dinner at all, so I'm assuming broken ribs are rather difficult to heal. From what I've heard, though, Hufflepuff was flattened. Pity, really, I wish they won more often, especially against Slytherin._

_Would you like me to send your regards to Neville? I imagine you must be busy enough as it is over there at the moment._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

_-;-;-;-;-_

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you're busy, but I think you ought to know that Neville's in the Hospital Wing with broken and badly bruised ribs after our first Quidditch match of the year. He seems to be recovering quite well, though._

_Also, it might interest you that I have been hearing rumours about a third-year Gryffindor Seeker who's being hailed as 'The Next Harry Potter'; not only for his apparent skill, but also his high accident rate. As far as I know, the Gryffindors see him as their trump card on the team. Also, I'll have you know the new Quidditch match commentator is every bit as talented and easily distracted as Lee Jordan himself._

_You wouldn't know how strange it is to see the shoes of our reputations filled by all these new students. Anyway, I'll leave you to your Auror work now._

_- Hermione_

_P.S. Have you finished moving in yet? Please send photos._

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

That night, Hermione couldn't sleep. Her work for the night had been done and she now lay in bed, mind restless and wandering. She couldn't help but keep coming back to the way Malfoy had reacted to her probing earlier in the night, and the last time they spent the night in the corridors.

Why was he so reluctant to talk? And why was he so agitated when he eventually did? Hermione was well aware of the arrest and life sentence of his parents to Azkaban, and the blackened Malfoy name. Perhaps it was the loss of a family, however distant a family the Malfoys must have been, that had affected him. She briefly felt a stab of sympathy to the thought of him returning home every school break to face the huge, cold and _empty_ Malfoy Manor, and suddenly it did not seem so surprising that he had a job that kept him at the workplace. Hermione thought of the good month-and-a-half she spent after the end of the war trying to find her parents; how alone she had been, insisting that she do it by herself, and how alien her home was, discarded like the shell of a former life, devoid of all photos and indications that she had lived there at all.

No. This was getting too close to personal for comfort. Hermione took a deep breath and shut her eyes, willing her mind to sink into unconsciousness.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

_...The first thing she was aware of was the feeling of water landing on her face in fat, rolling drops. The smell of ash and smoke filled her nose. She opened her eyes, blearily looking around. Her nightie, soaked through, clung to her as she slowly stood, the soles of her feet scraping against __stone._

_She took a step forwards and nearly fell off the edge of a sheer cliff._

_It was then that she realised she was standing on a tiny island of rock in the middle of a sea of sorts. There was barely three feet square to stand on; green, foamy water churned around her like a huge monster lapping at a comparatively tiny, black lozenge. The wind laughed insanity at her, turned in an instant into Bellatrix Lestrange's wild cackle. The faint lines on the inside of her arm prickled, and she resisted the urge to scream for help._

_And to her upper left, barely recognisable in a whirlwind of smoke and flames, was Hogwarts._

_And then she did scream._

"_Hermione..."_

_The first voice was barely audible, but she recognised it all the same. Stumbling around, she caught sight of a hand, wet and deathly white and decaying. The rest of the arm appeared, no less sickening than the rest of it. Then a shoulder. Then a head._

_Ron's head._

_Her eyes went wide with horror. "Ron?" she whispered._

_His eyes were glazed completely white as her name fell again from purple lips. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione was grateful that she didn't have to see his blue eyes; no, that would be so much worse. Nevertheless, the hair, the face...it was too much a likeness._

_No, this cannot be happening._

_Another figure rose from the sea, grabbing at footholds in the rock. Harry, paler than ever and dripping with water, looked ominously up at her. "Hermione," he rasped, and his free hand brushed back wet clumps of hair to pass over the scar on his forehead. Hermione's scream died in her throat as her arm seared with pain, and she fell to her knees._

"_No," she whimpered, shuffling away as much as she could as more people surfaced from the stormy sea. Ginny stared at her through unseeing eyes. Neville crawled up the cliff with an agility she had never seen from when he was alive. Her mother and father muttered her name like a mantra, all the while making their way up slowly, steadily. Fred and George, still twins down to the last fading freckle, leered at her in identical, sick parodies of the smiles she knew so well. Luna kept unblinking eyes trained incessantly on her through waves of now-dull, blond hair. One by one, Sirius, Tonks, Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, Dumbledore, everyone she treasured erupted from the surface of the water like Inferi and began to make for the island, her sanctuary. "Hermione, Hermione," they all echoed._

_She looked around._

_Draco Malfoy's grey eyes stared into hers, every bit as stormy as the sky above them. His white-blond hair lay plastered to his skull. He smirked then, and it was the single most terrifying expression she had seen so far._

"_What are you going to do now, Granger?" he drawled._

_Hermione screamed as the rain turned crimson._

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

"...Granger! Granger! Can you hear me?"

Hermione's eyes flew open, meeting with the same pair of grey ones she saw in the last few moments of her dream. She let out a little scream and bolted out from under his (concerned?) gaze, curling up in the corner of her bed in an attempt to make them go away.

"Granger, are you alright?"

She ignored him, gaze locked at the wall in front of her. She barely heard the sigh from her bedside, before he spoke again.

"Granger, if you're going to sit there and sulk, I'm going back to bed."

When she didn't respond, she heard another sigh, and then the shuffle of his feet as he moved back to his bed.

As he reached his bedside, however, her voice came from behind him.

"Do you?"

He paused, waiting for an explanation.

"Get them, I mean," she whispered, her voice sounding uncomfortably loud in the quiet. "Watch as your parents, your friends...all the things that mean something to you are turned into monsters, in your mind...Do you?"

There was a long, thick silence as she watched his unmoving figure, waiting for an answer. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he raised his head slightly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

The softness in his voice when he said those words stayed with Hermione for the rest of the night.

* * *

**So, yeah. How was it? I slacked off for so long because of the busy term and all that, but in the past week I've worked my arse off to produce quite possibly my favourite chapter so far. Ask me anything! Tell me what you think! Did you like the nightmare sequence? Did you like Snape's quote cameo in I think Chapter 4? Did you like Charlie McDonnell's cameo as the Hufflepuff Keeper? I so enjoyed writing the Quidditch Match.**

**Also...WHO WATCHED HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLLOWS PART 2? HOW AWESOME WAS IT? I SAW IT TODAY AND IT WAS SO EPIC I'M NOT EVEN - I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO SAY - ****Okay. I am going through post-Potter bipolar depression. I'm having these flashes where I realise that there will never be another movie or a book, ever. Never ever ever. But mostly it hasn't quite sunk in yet. I'd like to say more, but then I'd spoil it for other people who have, for whatever unfathomable reason, haven't watched it yet.**

**Anyway, yes. Review! I'd like to see how many people are still following this story after so many months. Let's see how devoted you guys actually are.**

**Until next time,**

_**ScarletInk314**_


	7. Chapter 7

**So hi everyone! :D**

**Yeah. This is a golden time for writing! I am busy, but I have just been itching to write lately, and here is the result! It's okay, probably not as great as last time, but it's extra long though - hope you like it!**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Kringle**

Hermione stirred.

For seven-thirty in the morning, the room was oddly bright.

The itchiness behind her eyelids and the awkward position of her body were becoming increasingly troublesome to bear. She rolled over sleepily, rubbing the irritation out of her eyes, and blinked several times.

What was obviously nearly a midday sun was glaring at her through a crack in the curtains facing her bed.

_Oh, shit._

_Oh, shitshitshitshitshiiiiitbugga._

She had slept in.

A quick glance at the clock told her that it was now 10.53. Her mind went into overdrive as she tried to get up, lost her balance, toppled out of bed and hit her head on the corner of her bedside table on the way down. Scrambling to her feet and cursing under her breath while clutching a throbbing temple, Hermione hurriedly pulled on the set of robes she had had the blessed foresight to hang out before bed last night.

Did she have time to do her hair properly?

Another glance at the clock.

_Nope, apparently-freaking not._

She decided to just leave her hair as the birds' nest it was, knowing she wouldn't be able to do much about it anyway. Grabbing her bag and her wand, Hermione headed out to the main room.

There was a note pinned to her jacket, the writing showing on the reverse side an elegant cursive.

_Granger,_ it read:

_Do not fret about your current situation. I have called you in sick on your behalf._

_If you look around on my desk, you will find a vial of Pepper-Up Potion. I will be looking for a replacement no later than tomorrow._

_ - Draco Malfoy_

For a moment, Hermione was confused. Why would he be looking for a replacement if he already had Pepper-Up Potion at his disposal? What –

Oh.

_...Oh._

_Right._

She could _definitely_ use one of those now. Hermione pored over his desk. Lamp – Defence Against the Dark Arts, Book One – more books of varying thicknesses – stack of essays – a Chocolate Frog wrapper – photo of Lucius giving a present to a pre-Hogwarts Draco Malfoy – _vial of Pepper-Up Potion. Yes. _Wait, backtrack.

Potion in hand, Hermione focused her attention back on the small picture frame propped up on his desk. Of all the things on Malfoy's workplace, Hermione least expected to see something like this; she hadn't thought of Malfoy as the type of person to carry such sentimental, personal objects with him. Ignoring a part of her voice that nagged that she was invading his privacy, and _she shouldn't give a damn about his personal life, that last night's probing had definitely trespassed the boundaries._

Draco Malfoy looked utterly innocent, brow free of worry lines as he jumped around, grinning with anticipation and juvenile excitement. His straight, fine hair flew around him in a white-gold halo. A bit of Hermione smiled as she saw his attempts to lift the overwhelmingly large present; Lucius Malfoy smiled in a way Hermione was sure was reserved only for his family as he watched his son tear apart the wrapping paper dramatically to reveal the jumbo-sized, extremely fluffy teddy-bear.

It was almost painful to watch, really. Hermione tore her eyes away from the moving image as she downed the contents of the vial, smiling when sudden blistering warmth rushed through her, and went to search for her Transfiguration teacher's textbook.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

_Later, at 2.15 p.m._

Draco Malfoy had a splitting headache. It had been a rather stressful morning; first, a riot between two Slytherin and Gryffindor fourth-years had forced him to give them both detention set for tonight. It was still extremely annoying to have to spend his time supervising such a tedious activity, despite the small consolant that the Defence Against the Dark Arts cupboard would _finally _be tidy – if, that is, they did it properly.

Without bothering to knock, Draco opened the door to his office. Just the state of his desk was enough to send another round of pangs in the back of his head.

Hermione, of course, was sitting facing the window, brow furrowed in intense concentration over a thick text. That was, until she looked up and saw his pitiful state. An flicker of what looked to be concern flitted across her face, before reverting back to a frown.

"Bad day, Malfoy?"

He only grunted as an indication that he'd actually heard her at all.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

_Like a prisoner recently escaped from Azkaban,_ was Hermione's first thought when she looked up and saw Malfoy enter and fling his coat on the back of his chair, looking positively withered. His normally very straight, aristocratic posture had completely vanished; he drooped not unlike one of Hermione's old rag dolls. His hair stood up in just about every direction, clashing and wild and falling into dull, almost sunken eyes.

"Bad day, Malfoy?" she asked him, putting no particular meaning behind the rhetorical question. He made a small sound, barely acknowledging her general existence, and collapsed into his chair with a groan that made Hermione want to give him a shoulder massage.

_What – where did that come from –_

Sweet Merlin's lacy pink bloomers, _what was wrong with her today?_ Hermione frowned as she pushed the rather inappropriate impulse into some dark, dusty corner of her mind. Draco Malfoy was certainly attractive – attractive to a ridiculous extent, really, for such a twat – but that did _not _warrant thoughts like the one currently brooding in the dark, dusty corner of her mind. _I will not tell Ron. I will not tell Ron._

But she still had to do something. She couldn't just leave him to decompose like that, not when he probably had another class to teach later in the afternoon.

Not that she could sit and do nothing in the first place when she could remember all too clearly the look on his face last night when she woke up, and when he took it upon himself to actually care about her well-being.

Maybe.

"Come here," she told him when she saw him pressing finger to temple. He opened one eye to scrutinise her warily. Hermione sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Nnngh." Apparently not. She growled. "You'll want to get over here _now_, unless you want that headache for the first years as well and the rest of tonight."

"Nnnngh!" Louder this time. Hermione pursed her lips. "Fine. If you won't move, I will."

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

And before Malfoy could open his mouth to protest, Granger was pulling her chair and herself towards him, and turning him so he was sitting sideways in his seat, and shuffling closer and settling in _unsettlingly_ close proximity. To say that her knees brushing against his legs through the fabric of their robes wasn't uncomfortable would be like saying Lovegood's Humdingers and Nargles actually existed.

_But not altogether unpleasant._

And certainly, the feeling of cool, gentle fingers taking the place of his own against the sides of his head was not unpleasant at all, Draco thought as Granger's magic permeated his mind. In fact, it felt..._good. Sinfully good_. Somewhere in the back of his head, a little voice remarked on her unexpected adeptness at healing. Draco's thoughts hazed over, then went almost completely blank as streams of her magic signature ran through his mind, looking, seeking out the source of pain.

He was almost ashamed of the way he had yielded so easily to granting her access to his thoughts and memories; was it implicit trust, that he did not force her presence out? Strange. He, Draco Malfoy, was placing trust in a Muggleborn not to damage his brain, to simply get rid of something as common as a headache.

_Also, ashamed of his reactions,_ he added a few seconds later, when a probing tendril brushed a sensitive part of his mind and he leaned forward slightly, mouth opening to release a small, traitorous moan of approval. He was brought almost immediately back to reality as he felt her pause hesitantly in her search, confused by his response.

"Malfoy?" Granger's voice was uncertain. Malfoy hurriedly closed his gaping mouth and swallowed, looking at her slightly worried expression. "I – I'm fine," he breathed, stumbling a little on his words, "go on."

She eyed him for a moment more, still puzzled, before resuming her search.

The rest of it was relatively uneventful. Draco was better prepared for when her magic began moving again, searching just as persistently as before. It didn't take very long at all before she found the source, wrapping strands around what felt like a dark mass in the back of his head, and pulled it out, roots and all. The magic withdrew at a much more rapid rate as Granger retreated from his mind, and the nearly-migraine was gone.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

Hermione smiled as she looked at the scrap of parchment in her hand. It read:

_**- Neville Longbottom -**_

Well, thank goodness for that. Hermione wouldn't know what to get for anyone else, really. It could have been worse; she could have gotten Flitwick, or Trelawney, or even McGonagall herself.

_Or Malfoy_. Hermione tried not to think about the blonde sitting next to Sprout.

Not that it worked, anyway. Her efforts were rewarded with the still-fresh memory of the contours of his mind, and the way his eyes and their long, white lashes had fluttered closed as a response to her magic, and that low, half-strangled noise he'd made, so _unmistakeably_ a sound of pleasure that it had taken her by surprise and she'd stopped dead in her tracks.

Not to mention the way he blushed afterwards.

_No,_ she told herself, _we will not be discussing this particular issue of straying thoughts again._

Speaking of Malfoy, the devil himself was scowling in a manner rather similar to that of a child. He looked positively upset, even _sulking_, if Hermione dared to classify it under that sort of terminology. But she was fairly certain that it was in some way related to the crumpled-up ball of parchment clutched tightly in his own fingers, and the name written on it.

At that moment, Trelawney spoke up. "Mr. Malfoy," she said, suddenly but rather mistily, "solitarily seeking what will be imminently required will be nigh impossible. However, with the help of an unlikely friend, you will find what you need."

Hermione was almost more occupied absently watching the muscle in Malfoy's jaw twitching than she was eavesdropping. Or conveniently picking up, for want of a less devious definition.

"Thank you, Professor," was the response through gritted teeth. Most likely he would get rather worked up later trying to figure out what her words were supposed to mean.

As the staff stood up and began making for the door, Hermione deliberately took the long way round and swept up the scrunched-up piece of parchment as discreetly as possible. When she was outside, she looked around, then pulled it open.

_**- Sybill Trelawney -**_

Later, Hermione would come to mildly regret scaring the living daylights out of the first-years passing by with her rather manic-sounding laughter.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

_This was definitely the right place to go, _Hermione thought as she perused under the 'Clothing' section of George's joke shop. Stacked bountifully on the shelves were an assortment of items ranging from what were labelled Self-Tangling Shoes to Shrinking Earmuffs and Spectrum Goggles. Knowing Neville and his habit of wearing about twice the number of layers any sane person might put on, Hermione picked up a Blinding Beanie that, according to George, "will fit any head size or shape, but will also periodically 'fall' over the eyes of the wearer to obscure their vision."

"In the mood for pranks, Hermione?" he said to her when she approached the counter, eyes shining with mirth. "I never thought I'd see the day, to be honest! The world must be ending."

"It's for Neville," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "Goodness knows he could use something to distract him from those first and second year students, I know I could."

George only smiled faintly as she fumbled in her pocket for the eight Galleons, before his face suddenly grew serious. "Listen, Hermione," he muttered in the voice she could only imagine him using in conspirational situations, "You _have _to come home to the Burrow for Christmas."

Hermione blinked. "Well, I sort of have to, don't I? Ron – "

"Exactly," he interrupted, mid-sentence. "Your fiance is practically decaying in his office in the Ministry. Hell, when he's home, everyone tries to avoid him. _Even Mum,_" he added, looking rather stricken.

"But – "

He cut her off again. "Ron needs you back. _We_ need you back. Even his Auror colleagues are complaining because _he won't stop whining all the time_. It's all he talks about nowadays, poring over those letters you send him like a bloody damsel-in-distress, wanting his 'Mionekins' to cuddle with, or something."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. She laid a reassuring hand on George's arm and told him, "It's all right, George. There's no need be like that, I'll be coming back in two weeks' time!" To the grimace on his face at the 'two weeks' bit, she added, "I just have some arrangements to make after break starts which means I'll miss Christmas Day, but I'll definitely be back for dinner if that's alright. Besides, how could I miss an opportunity to see Harry and all of you again in favour of staying behind to supervise a few students? That's absurd."

George's expression was one of extreme gratitude; Hermione wondered just how bad Ron's moping had been to warrant such desperate measures. "Well, that's great to know then, Hermione," he told her, sounding immensely relieved as he pushed back four Galleons at her. "You can have that one for half-price – don't tell Ron, or he'll be after me!"

Before she could respond, a voice called from further back in the line of witches and wizards. "Hey, can I have one for that price as well?"

"Not a chance!" was the vehement reply, as Hermione grinned and slipped out of the shop. Outside it was even colder than usual; she shivered a little as a gust of wind billowed up her robes. Eager to escape the cold, she looked around for a shop that looked worth a browsing. As she peered around the corner, she spotted a familiarly pale head disappearing into an artifact shop.

_What's Malfoy doing in a dodgy place like that?_ Her curiousity roused, she put a Disillusionment Charm on herself and slipped past the closing door.

Hermione let out a silent breath of relief, thanking Merlin that it was one of those heavy doors. If it had been the type that had to be manually shut or one that was faster-moving, she would almost certainly have missed the mark, thereby having to open it herself and risk Malfoy hearing the bell but seeing nothing.

It was a dark, dank little shop: the wallpaper looked outdated and almost greasy with dirt, and the entire place stank of rotting wood and rain. Ancient-looking but utterly random objects were propped up on the shelves; she could spot just about anything, from a repulsive, dried-up hand that looked like it belonged in Knockturn Alley to strange, thick volumes draped in cobwebs and dust and _oozing_ with what felt suspiciously like Dark magic.

Hiding behind a pot of something that reeked of garlic, Hermione found Malfoy in a corner of the shop, holding a small but disproportionately thick book. He seemed to be entirely absorbed in its contents until, without looking up, he spoke.

"I see modern wizarding society must be mistaken about your intelligence, Granger, if you think I can't see past a simple Disillusionment spell." With a single flick of his wand, he dispelled her disguise, leaving her bright red, crouching behind a huge pot that smelled bad, and utterly embarrassed.

She struggled (rather uncharacteristically) to find a dignified response. "And I see that you must have awful taste in gift-giving, if you intend on giving _that_ to Professor Trelawney." She felt a flash of momentary triumph as confusion flickered across his features. "How do you know this is for Trelawney?" he shot back, without so much as single waver in his tone. "I could be buying it for my personal interests."

"Unlikely," she replied immediately, eyeing him with a sharp look. "Don't think I haven't seen your lists of possible things to buy. Come on; _Divination in the Dark Ages_? I'd sooner believe you were writing a young adult vampire novel than your claims of interest in _that_. Furthermore," she continued, smiling as she tossed her trump card in the air in front of him and caught it again, "I found this at your seat in the staffroom."

It was irrefutable evidence, and Malfoy knew it. With a sigh, he snapped shut the little book and put it back on the shelf he was leaning on. "It's none of your business. Besides, I wasn't going to buy it anyway."

"You should go visit Flourish and Blotts if you want a book. There's nothing here but dust and useless items."

That comment was rewarded with a glare. "I don't need you to state the obvious, Granger. Now if you will, kindly move out of my way; I have more...pleasant...places to be." He wrinked his nose as if he'd just noticed the odour.

"Well, if you're sure, _Malfoy_," Hermione said airily, putting a deliberate drawl on his name. "I'll have you know I've got about a half dozen potential titles off the top of my head, and certainly more if I put effort into looking. But I guess I'll just keep them to myself..."

For once, Malfoy looked momentarily taken aback, as if he were unsure of whether asking for her help was the wiser decision to make. As she walked away, she counted the number of steps.

_One,_

_Two,_

_Three,_

_Four,_

_Five,_

_Six – _

"...Tell me."

Hermione stopped, and turned around. The smile on her face was predatory. "You only had to ask."

Half an hour later when the two of them walked out of _Flourish and Blotts_, Hermione looking smug and Malfoy dangerously stone-faced with a copy of _A Detailed History Of The Future_ tucked under his arm, it never occurred to either that Trelawney's predictions had, indeed, come true.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

And so it came to pass that Hermione Jean Granger woke up on Christmas morning at the grand time of eleven-thirty, and found a ridiculously tall stack of presents in the main room of the office. Piled high were dozens of gifts both small and large from friends and family alike; having become accustomed to the same thing happening for three years now, Hermione sat down and dug in. As a result, Draco Malfoy trodded in barefoot at the even grander time of noon, to find about a third of the floor covered in meticulously unwrapped gift-paper, a great number of chocolates and other such sweets, and a gleefully hyperactive Hermione sitting in the midst of it all.

"Granger," he growled, looking suitably disgruntled. "I'm not helping you clean this up."

She grinned at him through a mouthful of cookies. "Never asked you to," she replied, seemingly with much effort. "But you could, since I saved your dignity two weeks ago and as of yet, you've done nothing to repay me."

His only response was to tell her that she should swallow the food in her mouth before preaching to him about dignity. "You're such a grouch," she told him as he pulled out his chair, sat down and started pulling stacks of paper out of the desk drawers.

_Granger just called me a grouch, of all things. Charming._

"Just because you're letting go of your sanity today, Granger, doesn't mean I intend to as well. I have much better things to do."

He didn't have to look at her to know she was sulking. "What do you mean, '_much better things to do_'? Christmas is supposed to be a time to relax, not coop yourself up working. Now come on, or I'll find your presents and open them too."

He ignored her.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

Hermione was utterly high on sugar.

Of course, only her parents, the Weasleys, Harry and the Gryffindor girls knew just how much she let loose at Christmas. As far as Hermione was concerned at the moment, the more sugar, the better; the dental advice of her mother and father lay forgotten in the bottom of her priority list as she made herself a meal out of cookies, chocolate and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

As she got lower and lower on the piles of presents, however, she grew increasingly sober. This was the only pile of presents in the room; as far as she'd been aware, she hadn't found a single one she could throw at Malfoy, who was sitting at his desk organising papers like a Muggle clerk.

Eventually, Hermione reached the last present on the pile, which so happened to be the knitted sweater from Mrs Weasley that she'd been looking forward to putting on. By now, there was about enough wrapping paper to cover half the floor, but not a single present with 'Draco Malfoy' written on it. She looked over at his occupied figure, frowning.

"Are you hoarding your presents, Malfoy? I can't seem to find them."

"Don't be ridiculous," came the reply.

"Well," she said, "you must be hiding them. They're not here at all."

"I'm not hiding any sodding presents, Granger."

At that moment, she spotted a small package, tucked inconspicuously next to the wardrobe. "Aha!" she said triumphantly, pointing at it. "So you have been hoarding them!"

Malfoy, however, only blinked in surprise. "Give it here," he said slowly.

Hermione shook her head vigorously, not unlike a small child. "Get it yourself," she told him. Malfoy rolled his eyes and reluctantly got out of his seat, picking up the plain package and dusting it off as he sat down, cross-legged, in front of her.

Inside was a set of three fine quills and a bottle of scarlet ink. Hermione snatched up the set of instructions before he could read them:

_- Self-Marking Ink and Quill Set -_

_Ideal for essay-marking and editing. Do not use quills with other inks: This will cause damage to the Self-Sharpening Mechanism._

"Well, that's fine and all," she commented after a brief pause, handing it back to him. "Where are the rest?"

Malfoy looked away. "I don't know."

"You can't not know, if you've been hoarding them."

He looked at her, his face carefully expressionless. "This is the only present I've gotten since the end of the war."

Hermione was taken aback at that statement, but then reasoned that she shouldn't have been so surprised. After all, his parents could hardly send him gifts from Azkaban, and most of his friends had, more or less, abandoned him after the downfall of his family. "You mean...none? None at all?"

His expression didn't change. "None," he said, as if it were a trivial matter. "Not that it matters, anyway. I don't need them."

"But that's horrible."

"Like I said, I don't need them," he repeated firmly. Hermione stared at him for a moment, not really knowing what to say. Finally, she turned around. Malfoy seemed to take it as a sign that she had nothing more to add, because when she turned back with a box of Chocolate Frogs in hand, he was about to get up.

"What are you doing?" she said, mildly annoyed. "Sit back down." When he did so, looking somewhat bemused, Hermione handed him the box.

"Merry Christmas," she told him. "I mean, it's not much," she added hastily, glancing at the abundance of boxes, "but it's not like I need it."

She ignored his the stunned look on his face, grabbing two more random boxes and pressing them into his hands. "Here. I don't want them, either." Another one. "And these." And another three small ones. "Take these ones as well."

She would have taken more, if he hadn't put a hand on her forearm to stop her. As she looked back at him, worried that he was taking her gesture the wrong way, he seemed to hesitate, uncertain of what to say. But eventually, he spoke.

"Thank you," was all he said, and the small smile on his face – not a smirk, she noted – said it all.

_**-;-;-;-;-**_

Two hours later, the Defence Against the Dark Arts office had been cleared up completely. The only signs left of wrapping paper had been shrunk and tossed into the rubbish bin next to the door. Hermione had conjured up an extra trunk with an additional Expansion Spell to make space for her gifts, and the desks and their bedside tables looked curiously empty without the usual clutter of essays, ink pots and quills.

As she searched for the jar of Floo Powder, she said, "So, you'll be at the Manor for the rest of the break?"

After a moment, he replied, "Yeah, I guess, why?"

"Oh, nothing much," she told him as she spotted the jar sitting behind the coat stand next to the door. "Just wondering; I assume you'll be spending the next few weeks by yourself in a mansion far too big for any one person."

"Pansy visits me sometimes."

"And no one else?"

"Not really, no, if you don't count the owls and the house elves."

She laughed, something she would have considered a miracle a few weeks ago. "Well, alright then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an oversized family to save."

He stared at her in a very un-Malfoy way. "What do you mean, an oversized family? Don't tell me you and the Weasel have been going at it like Doxies!"

"Of course not," she told him smugly, throwing the Floo Powder into the flames and stepping in, "why on earth would you think that?"

The look on his face before she was engulfed in green was utterly, _utterly_ priceless.

* * *

**So yeah. Now we're going places...I have a fair bit planned for the two of them during the Christmas break! ;)**

**Anyway, here you go! Reviewwwww :3**

**Until next time,**

_**ScarletInk314**_


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